


god in a jar

by h4amarch



Category: Hello Charlotte (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, actually there's not even much gore, future major character death??? like nobody dies in the fic but like, series-typical gore, they gon die, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 12:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h4amarch/pseuds/h4amarch
Summary: "However, we can visit the Oracle pool again, if you want to.Although it is gross, I find it strangely fascinating."or, Felix Honikker contemplates the futility of the remainder of his life.





	god in a jar

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 한국어 available: [병에 담긴 신](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501154) by [h4amarch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/h4amarch/pseuds/h4amarch)



> Hey what up it took me too long to write this

The walk up to the Oracle containment seems almost like a dream. Felix feels lightheaded, standing at the top of the stairs and staring out at the pulsating field of organic masses. His fingers rest lightly at the tiled surface of the tub before tapping out a simple rhythm, _one two, one two three_. The viscerocomplex reacts, the primitive nervous system stuttering in its connections and signals, its various patterns of breathing slowly uniting until it sounds almost human, _one two, one two three_. It moves slowly, climbing atop itself, rising, a desolate hill of flesh and blood. He has not figured out why the Oracle exhibits this particular response, but he suspects it is a long and arduous study to begin, and if those suspicions are correct, well—he doubts he will get the chance to finish it.

The idea of becoming its host worms its way to the forefront of his mind, as it always does when he decides to spend time staring into the containment. His brain follows the usual logical process, thinking a series of thoughts that are now as much of a ritual as they are a habit.

Becoming a host will reduce his lifespan to a week at worst, a month at best. But he already has less than that to live, if his self-test results are accurate.

The Oracle would destroy his thinking processes, and dying while he is still "himself" is something he isn't willing to give up. But he already has difficulty thinking, staying focused, remembering important things.

Even if he became a host, what would he use the Oracle for? A means to prevent his body from decomposing? It would destroy him in the end, and he doubts an Oracle-induced death is much more pleasant than his internal organs failing. A way to ensure that he has a painless death? He already has a selection of anesthetics prepared back in his lab, with help from Bennett. All he has to do is choose the sample of ketamine. Felix finds it a little amusing that the Oracle, as all-powerful as it is, is completely useless in preventing his death.

The inevitability swallows him whole, an ocean of scribbles and muttered words, a darkness oppressing and comforting.

What would even happen if he were to wish something like, "I want to live"? Or would "I don't want to die" be more accurate? Did the Oracle bother with semantics like those? Would the wish turn him into a being with endless replacement vessels, like Wiltshire? Or would it reduce him to the bare necessities of a living being, a mindless, breathing supply for spare organs like the specimen in front of him now?

Felix tells himself, for the fifty-third time, that there are too many variables and not enough constants. He finds that his finger has stilled, and the viscerocomplex, with no stable stimuli to guide it, has melted back into its complacent limbless state.

It isn't that he has come to terms with dying—on the contrary, he is scared. He is so, _so_ scared. But there's nothing he can do, and during moments like these, he can let his thoughts wander into desperate grasping at "what if"s before cutting them all off, methodically, ruthlessly, pruning the branches of his meaningless, illogical hope.

...It is late, even for the insomniac workaholic that he is. He might as well not waste the precious few hours of sleep he has left.

* * *

Later, when Eyler takes it upon herself to become a willing host, he feels a slight pang of jealousy. Who is she, to come and decide that finding Wiltshire is worth losing the rest of her life for? He doubts her natural lifespan will end anywhere in the next 50 years, so why, _why_ is she throwing it all away?

But he would be lying, of course, if he denied the small sense of comfort it plants deep inside his ribcage. Unwittingly, Scarlett Eyler provides him company, a kindred spirit with a future with no light at the end of the tunnel.

At the very least, if he will never become like his uncle, he wants Eyler to find Wiltshire, regardless of her motives.


End file.
